We Were Made For This, I Think
by youroctober
Summary: He's going to crack someday. In spite of his older brother's sadism and manipulation, he's going to crack. It's inevitable. But not tonight. Not quite yet. One-shot.


**We Were Made For This, I Think**

Huge thanks to my wonderful IronicallyYours for editing for this. I love her so very hard. And I love these Prince of Tennis boys as well, even if I don't own them. Please review; it always means a lot. And please enjoy. This is one of my preferred pieces.

**

* * *

  
**

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He eventually distinguishes curtains fluttering in the breeze created by the electric fan, a glint of moonlight splayed across the mirror, and the form of his younger brother in bed. By leaning against the door he shuts it, blocking out the world for an hour or two. He moves towards the bed, sidestepping some books and a water bottle on the strip hardwood flooring, as silent as a cat slinking through the shadows.

His reflection in the dusty mirror as he stands next to the bed catches his eye. He looks up, momentarily distracted from the sleeping boy in front of him, and studies his face. A hardened, almost malignant expression shapes his mouth and curves his slender brows. He tries to settle into his usual serene smile, not wanting to startle his brother, but he struggles with it. The situation hardly calls for cheery, fake smiles, and he isn't one to baby Yuuta. He's not an idiot; he knows exactly what's going on, what _has_ been going on for the past three years. And somehow, Yuuta keeps coming back—or rather, he keeps letting Fuji come back. The thought is thrilling either way.

He looks down at Yuuta, and if he wasn't hard already, he is now. It doesn't take much when it comes to his brother; a simple MSN conversation between the two, where Fuji blatantly flirts with him and Yuuta responds with a string of "anjbhgjyhg STOP IT." Regardless, he strokes himself through his pants every single time, and he's fairly sure Yuuta does as well.

Just as he reaches to touch Yuuta's face his eyes snap open. "S-Shusuke?" He sits up and draws his knees up to his chest. "What're you doing? Don't freak me out like that!" He reaches for his bedside lamp's drawstring and misses; the green tassels dance as his hand brushes past them.

"Ah, Yuuta, I thought you were asleep." He sits down next to him, as though a considerably aroused older brother coming into his younger brother's room at three in the morning is perfectly normal. Which, for them, it is, but he supposes Yuuta will never be able to get used to the idea.

"You woke me up," he grumbles. "What time is it, anyway?"

He turns to check his clock, but Fuji is too quick for him. Before he can brace himself his older brother has a death grip on his wrists and is pushing him into the mattress. Fuji smiles down at him as he straddles his lap, trying to set his mind at ease. It's the little game they always play; Yuuta pretends to struggle and reject him, and Fuji pretends to comfort and convince him. They go back and forth until one of them, usually Fuji, makes the first move and then they finally stop pretending.

"Stop it, you're hurting my wrists," Yuuta mutters, trying to wriggle away. He pictures Fuji holding his racquet—he must hold it just like this—and he feels himself getting uncomfortably hard. Fuji leans forward and smirks.

"As if you don't like it." And just like that he's read his mind, shifted through the half-hearted defences and found the dark secrets a part of him actually _wants_ his big brother to know. Because he can't put them in words—not yet, maybe not ever—but Fuji seems to hear them anyway.

"Shut up," he snaps through gritted teeth. He tries to push his knee into Fuji's chest in order to wrestle him off the bed, but Fuji's smile sharpens and he extends himself across Yuuta's body. He slips his fingers through Yuuta's, and he swears he can almost hear the _click_ of jigsaw pieces fitting perfectly together. He hears it again when he buries his face in the crook of his brother's neck, and again when he presses their hips together.

"This is wrong," Yuuta hisses, the same excuse he's used dozens of times before. "You know this is sick, don't you?" He almost wants Fuji to assure him that it isn't, that somehow there's nothing wrong with this, but after all, Fuji doesn't baby Yuuta. Not when he can help it.

"Of course I do," he says cheerfully. "But that hasn't stopped us yet, has it?"

"Stop." Yuuta grabs his brother's face, and for a second, Fuji's eyes narrow and the smile slips off his face. Yuuta has never protested this much before—at least, not physically. Usually it's meaningless threats muttered into his pillow as Fuji strips him and kisses his collarbone. "Don't do it. Go away. I mean it."

Fuji is annoyed with his brother, but he won't let it show. At this point he needs to gently and kindly coax him into accepting this once again. He should have known Yuuta would have his doubts eventually; he had been spending far too much time alone, thinking things over more than Fuji would like. He starts to kiss him, but their lips barely touch before Yuuta turns his head to the side.

"I'll call mom and dad. I swear I will. Don't test me."

He looks at Yuuta as though he's never seen him before. It isn't his threat that bothers him, because he knows Yuuta will never carry through with it, anyway. It's his resistance, the glint in his eyes as he pointedly looks away that feel like a slap in the face. Stung, Fuji pulls back.

"Goodnight." He slips his legs out of the sheets tangled around his calves and flings them on the bed. Yuuta's mouth is a single, solid line, one Fuji can barely make out in the darkness. By now those lips should be parting for his tongue, hungrily accepting it as Fuji's fingers grip his waistband. He wants to say something to Yuuta, something he'll probably regret later, but he doesn't utter a single word as he heads to the door, even when he feels Yuuta gripping his arm with both hands.

"Wait. I'm sorry. Stay, please. Stay."

He looks down at him, feigning surprise, though in actuality he feels anything but.

"I didn't mean it." Yuuta shoves away his pride and pushes his face into his brother's arm. Suddenly they're just kids again, Fuji comforting his brother because he fell down and scraped his knee on the cement tennis court. Then Fuji sees Yuuta's erection straining through his gray pyjama pants, sees the sweat trickling down the side of his face, and they aren't children anymore. They aren't innocent like they used to be.

He tries not to smirk as he lets his brother lead him back to bed.


End file.
